


we watch as they light up the sky

by Arrowsbane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Bellamy is being an idiot, Chapters 1-4 Rewritten, Charlotte is too godamnn adorable (for a pint-sized killer) to die, Clarke isn't stupid she knows she's being watched, Clarke just wants to survive, Criminals Anonymous, F/M, It only took me two years, Murphy gets his own Shadow!, Murphy has a crush, Oh look I updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsbane/pseuds/Arrowsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time John Murphy meets Clarke Griffin, he is four and she is five. She quite literally knocks him off his feet. </p><p>[In which Murphy doesn’t know that he has a thing for fire, and Clarke’s soul blazes brighter than the sun. </p><p>He never stood a chance.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I lost my heart (inside a dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Murphy meets Clarke Griffin, and it changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up bitches, I’m rewriting this shit and getting it done. I should be studying, but it’s called procrastinating and I am good at it.  
> In other news, I adopted a Rhino and bought the Pop Vinyl figure for Percival Graves.

* * *

The first time John Murphy meets Clarke Griffin, he is four years old, and she is five.

His father holds his hand tightly as they walk slowly down the dull corridor that leads to the school rooms. Today is his first day of school, and he’s tucked snugly into his father’s side like a limpet, but twice as stubborn. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave his parents behind, but his father has asked him to be brave and so he tilts his chin up and sets his expression firmly in place.

“Here we are,” his father says as they reach an open doorway leading to a large room already filled with children his age, and John tightens his grip.

“I have to go now John,” his father insists, gently detaching him. John stares balefully up at him.

“It’s time for me to go to work.” His father repeats, patting him on the head. “I’ll be back later.” The klaxon for shift-change blares, his father offers him one last smile, and then John is alone by the doorway.

He hovers on the threshold, peering inside, trying to bottle up the courage when he’s sent head over heels by a golden blur, and lands flat on his back with something heavy on his belly.

That heavy something turns out to be a girl with a halo of blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sky – or at least the sky he’s seen in photos and videos. She babbles out an apology, but he’s too dazed to really pay attention. _What?_ He’s heard that girls are supposed to be mad, but is it normal for them to hurl themselves bodily at people?

“Clarke,” a woman voice reprimands and the girl bolts upright, struggling to detangle herself from him. He’s lucky he doesn’t wind up being kicked in the kerfuffle.

“I’m sorry,” she says once more, smiling widely at him, and then she is gone. Hurried off by her mother to a different classroom.

And just like that, he’s hooked.

* * *

Unity day comes, and he finds himself tucked into his father’s side watching the parade. She’s there, the girl with the golden hair. She stands proudly in the centre of the pageant, reciting the traditional words with a surety he wishes he could have. She shines so brightly, like a brilliant supernova packed into the tiny body of a seven-year-old girl.

There’s a look in her eyes daring anybody to challenge her, to say that she’s messed up or gotten it wrong. She hasn’t, but she wears that determined expression anyway, and she looks good while doing it. Like she was born to test and defy every last person she ever meets.

He wonders what she’d do if he ever challenged her.

He wonders what _he’d_ do if she ever challenged him.

But she doesn’t even see him in the crowd.

And it will be many years before they even come face-to-face.

* * *

He sees her again and again over the years; tiny snatches and glimpses at a time, but he never gets to introduce himself. Not really.

[Sometimes he dreams that he has the courage to talk to her.

Dreams that she might smile and laugh with him.

But then he wakes up, and he remembers that he’s too craven to get within five meters of her.]

Slowly but surely, he begins to know her. By the time he’s eleven, he knows that she’s got a kind heart with a spine of steel. Knows that she’s determined to become Chief Medical Officer, but that her one true passion is art. He’s stumbled across her more than once, nose pressed to the glass on the viewing desk, hands stained with charcoal and her art-pad spread across her lap.

He thinks that he might even begin to love her (even if he’s not really sure what love _is_ just yet), but he knows that he can’t ever have her. She’s the daughter of Abigail Griffin, and best friend of the Chancellor’s son. She’ll probably wind up marrying Jaha anyway.

She’s always just out of his reach.

* * *

When he’s thirteen, he gets sick. Really, really sick. A nasty contagion of the flu comes around, and more than a few kids his age have already succumbed to it. He’s taken to the quarantine ward of the Med bay and given antibiotics, but the rationing isn’t enough.

[Somewhere in his delusional haze, he thinks he sees golden hair and hears a soft voice humming to him, thinks he feels a small hand brushing his hair back and mopping his face with a damp cloth.]

With nothing left to give him, he’s moved back into his room at home. It’s there that he lies, too weak to even eat solid food. His mother frets, and his father paces, until one day, his dad doesn’t come back.

Alex Murphy is floated for stealing medicine for his sick son.

( _Why did you leave me?_ )

The tragic thing is that it wasn’t even the right medicine.

John gets lucky. He’s a survivor. His immune system fights off the virus, and his body heals. His mind gets stronger with every passing day, but it still feels like a part of him is broken inside, a part of him still longs for his father and cringes with every step he takes.

( _A part of him curdles into hate; at the world, at the ark, the council… at himself._ )

His mother blames him, and to be honest, he blames him too.

One day, when he’s fourteen, he comes home to find his mother unconscious in a pool of her own vomit. He hails the Med bay, but by the time anybody gets there, it’s too late.

A month later, he tries to drink the pain away (it didn't work for his mother, but it's better than staring at a wall) and winds up assaulting a guard. It lands him in the Skybox.

When he comes to, the only thing he regrets is that he never got to say hello.

* * *

The last time he sees Clarke before they both wind up on the dropship, is after he’s been locked in the Skybox.

He’s angry and stupid, and been practically slamming himself against the walls – a wild animal in a steel box suspended in the empty void of space. Worse, he’s only one out of a hundred and fifty wild animals just like him. If it’s not a recipe for disaster, nothing is.

In the end, it’s an argument during lunch between two seventeen year olds (and gods, he’s only fifteen, but he’s already sentenced to the everlasting night that waits just outside an airlock) who are close to their final day on the Ark – tensions are high among the condemned, and they are angry, always angry. Angry and hating, spitting venom from between clenched teeth. He doesn’t blame them, not really – he gets caught off guard, and slammed against the wall by accident. It leaves him with a nasty concussion and a fractured wrist.

John wakes up in the Clinic, handcuffed to the bed with a firm hand pushing him back down when he instinctively tries to sit up. The sudden movement makes his head spin and he can’t stop himself from letting out a grunt of pain. He screws his eyes shut tight before blinking slowly, trying to adapt to the bright overhead lighting.

He’s not expecting to see her there, a soft look in her eyes as she checks over his injured wrist, strapping it tightly with an elastic bandage. He scowls when she shines a tiny penlight in his face, peering at his eyes and absently he wonders if she can see into his soul like in the old stories. She clucks unhappily with whatever it is she finds and tells him to rest, but not to fall asleep before bustling off to consult with an olive-skinned man in scrubs.

[ _Don’t go._ He wants to say. _Don’t leave me._ But she’s already gone.]

* * *

Its weeks later, months even before things change. Night after night, the rubber ball he squirrelled away into his cell bounces off the walls with a quiet, repeated smack. But at least it’s not his own head.

His roommate is passed out, snoring away on the bed.

Another week, and his roommate is gone.

Gone, gone, gone... and never coming back.

* * *

They fall to Earth in a blaze of fire and heat and sound, land in a smoking crater surrounded by a world greener than anything they’ve ever seen. John noticed when she appears, when she speaks out against a stranger trying to open the dropship, ever-wary of what they might find and he positions himself behind her right shoulder. Just in case she needs him.

But she doesn’t. She’s never needed him.

She’s never needed anybody.

Clarke stands firm in the face of the tall man with the dark eyes, but she accepts his reasoning – there is only so much oxygen in the dropship after all. The door opens with a groan and suddenly he is blinded by daylight.

When his eyes adjust, it is a forest that lies outside the door, wild and unknown. Fear creeps up inside his chest and he has to tamp down the scream that wants to escape. All he has ever known is the hum of the Ark’s life support, and leaving the safety of metal walls behind is _fucking terrifying_. The others forget their fear in a wave of excitement which carries them off of the ship and into the new world outside.

Clarke on the other hand, goes back into the ship and starts digging through the crates strapped in to the lower level. He watches as she surfaces with a rolled up map and then stubbornly stalks to a break in the trees. Curious, he pads after her, watching as she unrolls the cylinder of paper and scans the horizon.

“You’re frowning,” he tells her softly, watching the lines in between her eyebrows crease and furrow. She doesn’t even so much as twitch.

“Do you see that peak over there?” She asks him, nodding at a mountain in the distance.

“Yeah,” he replies, feeling more than a little worried. The elation at being on the ground, breathing fresh air, not dying in a blazing inferno or choking on radiation is rapidly dissipating.

“That’s Mount Weather. They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.” She says, and he swears under his breath.

_For fucks sake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 1-4 Originally Posted: March 9th - 15th, 2016.
> 
>  **Original Note**  
>  AN. So… when I was fifteen, I had a teeny little bit of a crush on Richard Harmon after I watched Tower Prep. He once replied to me on Facebook, and I squee’d very loudly (I think I asked if he spoke French?). I was delighted when he showed up in the 100 as Murphy, and pitched a minor (read: loud and rude) fit over “Murphy’s Law” and how Clarke behaved toward him.  
> Yeah, he was an asshole – and most likely a sociopath, but she was wrong to banish him over something that actually was just as much on her and Bellamy as it was him. Bellamy handed her a knife, and Clarke showed her how to kill quickly and silently. All Murphy actually did was chase her and shout a lot. And in his defense, he had just been strung up for no reason and had the box literally kicked out from underneath him by somebody he trusted.  
> So… this is me being weird as hell. Again. And shipping a little-used pairing.  
> Also, I went back and watched the Pilot. Went through frame by frame on the whole “the air could be toxic” scene and I shit you not, but Murphy is actually standing just behind Clarke just after the door opens for the first time. Go me. I have wicked psychic powers.


	2. you and I know (gold don’t turn to rust)

Clarke isn’t stupid. In fact, she’s very, very clever.

She knows that somebody has been watching her.

Pretty much everybody has been watching her since she was born.

There are a thousand expectations on her shoulders – to be the best, be a leader, follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a doctor. To marry well, perhaps even to marry _Wells,_ but she cannot entertain the thought of anything other than platonic love for her best friend. She wants more than just assured security, she wants passion that burns through her veins like a wildfire and a partner who can match her on every level.

Clark has never been one to do things by halves.

If she had been born on earth, she thinks she would have been an artist, spending her days capturing the beauty of life in a single moment and pressing it down on paper. But she is born in the sky, born in the cold space between the stars, and so she will become whatever she is needed to be.

Hungry eyes follow her every move, waiting for her to trip, waiting for her to fail. She will not fail. Clarke pushes herself harder with every passing day, excitement to learn bleeding away to leave a stubborn soul that is too proud to ask for help.

One day, she notices eyes on her again. But this time they feel different. They feel… lonely.

* * *

Clarke knows that there is a boy who lives in the shadows.

He never talks to her, or comes near her. He just watches.

She should find it creepy, should tell somebody, but she doesn’t. Instead she feels safe.

Sometimes, she wishes he would do something, say something, give her a reason to notice him because she knows her mother will scold her for making the first move.

Clarke has always been told that she is above childhood sweethearts, has no time for friends who aren’t good connections. For all that she tries to be fair and objective, Abigail Griffin will never be able to let go of her underlying prejudice. But the boy in the shadows says nothing, and so Clarke pretends she doesn’t know he’s there.

* * *

It goes on for years, and the longing for contact, to know his name grows inside her. She’s a curious soul and he is a puzzle; something different, a break in the ongoing monotony that is her life. She sees him in the shadows, and in the corner of her eyes, but she never looks up for fear that she’ll frighten him away. She doesn’t want him to leave.

More than once, he’s shifted his weight as if he was ready to step towards her only to falter when somebody else sits down next to her – Wells, Glass, her mother, her father. It’s like a twisted joke that the people she loves best stand between her and her mystery.

He’s always just one step behind her, one step too slow.

Or maybe she’s one step too fast.

* * *

“It’s not normal,” Wells tells her, moving the rook to a new position and taking her pawn.

“Define normal,” Clarke shoots back, using her Queen to take his Bishop. He snorts, eyes deliberately not sweeping across the far left corner of the room. “Check.”

“If I was anybody else, I’d be telling you that the kid is a creep and should be reported.” Wells hums, moving his King to safety.

“If you were anybody else, you wouldn’t be my best friend.” She shrugs, eyeing up the board and thinking about her next move. Her pawn takes his, moves forward.

“Check.” He shuffles a piece into play.

“It should be creepy,” She admits, moving her own King out of the way, “but it’s not.

“No,” Wells agrees, “but for the life of me I have no idea why.”

“Checkmate,” She crows, using her Knight to box his King in.

“Dammit.” He grumbles, and topples his King. “Again?”

Neither of them look across the room to where a boy sits, peering over his book at them.

Neither of them mention his book is upside down.

* * *

When she’s fourteen, a virus sweeps through the Ark.

It starts out on Factory station and winds its way through each and every level before anybody can react, before they even realise it. They quarantine the sickest, and they mourn the dead, because it is a vicious and unforgiving thing – and it’s just a stupid strain of influenza.

Sometimes the smallest of things have the biggest of impacts.

Clarke is one of the first to fall ill, but she bounces back in no time at all – a perk of working in the medical bay and living on alpha station is that her immune system is top notch and she’s got a much better diet than many others who aren’t half as lucky.

Her watcher is one of the ones in Alpha Station’s quarantine, and the first time she ever hears his name is when Jackson reads his chart. Jonathon Murphy.

He’s three months younger than she is.

And he’s dying.

Clarke goes home that night and cries when she’s sure nobody can see her.

It’s not fair.

The next day she sneaks into Quarantine alone to tend to him. His fever is too high, and his body is wracked with spasms. She comforts him as best she can, wipes the sweat from his face and hums to him. Her mother is furious, drags her away from the ward and locks her in her room.

Clarke wails and beats at the metal door desperately.

She hasn’t thrown a tantrum like this since she was three years old.

By the time her father comes home and lets her out, it’s too late. His ration of antibiotics has hit the limit, and so he’s been sent home.

He survives it, she later discovers. He gets to keep his life, but he loses his father. Alexander Murphy is floated for theft of medical supplies.

Her heart breaks for him, and she whispers a prayer for the man who gave his life in an attempt to save his son.

A year on, and word spreads of Caroline Murphy’s death by moonshine. He’s alone in the world and Clarke grieves for him again. She hates herself for not going to see him, but what would she say?

_Hi, you’ve been staring at me across the room for almost ten years now and I’m sorry for your loss?_

Yeah, no. That wouldn’t go down well.

In the end, she wishes she had gone to see him. She won’t even get to say goodbye.

* * *

She sees him again. One last time before everything goes to hell and she loses her own father, before she is locked in a solitary cell and begins to collapse in on herself from grief.

A prison riot leads to him being handcuffed in the medical bay with a concussion and an injured wrist; Clarke all but bullies Jackson into letting her take care of him. He doesn’t even know her name, but he is _hers_ dammit. [She doesn’t even know what his is to her yet, but he’s still hers.]

He fusses in his sleep, and she combs her fingers through his hair, trying to give him some semblance of peace. He blinks back into consciousness, and she has to fight to make him stay down.

She wraps up his wrist as carefully as she can, and checks his head for bruising, avoiding his gaze while she does so. A penlight in his eyes ( _I’m sorry,_ she thinks when he winces, _I’m sorry_ ) confirms that he’s showing signs of anisocoria. There’s nothing she can do but hand him off to a senior medical student. She sighs and marks it down on his chart before handing it off to Jackson and leaving. There are too many things left unsaid for her to keep her professionalism right now.

* * *

Earth is beautiful, and for a second she’s lost in the breathtakingly beautiful skies, reassured by the ever-familiar presence of John behind her shoulder. It’s been six months in solitary, and months before that since she’s had him nearby, but it still feels like second nature to have him watching over her.

The teens spill from the dropship like water from a spigot, but Clarke’s sensibility kicks in. Where are they, and when is their next meal? She digs up an old Map and sets out to get her bearings, well aware that her shadow has once again glued himself to her. She smiles to herself – they might be on Earth-that-was, but it still feels just like old times.

The peaceful-serene-happiness that sits in her stomach evaporates as she looks back and forth between the map and the horizon. _Oh shit. Oh fuck no._

“You’re frowning,” John says behind her, watching her with concerned eyes. It’s the first time she’s ever heard his voice and it’s like feeling the sun on her face all over again. Clarke swallows, looking up at him through pale lashes.

“Do you see that peak over there?” She asks him, nodding at a mountain in the distance.

“Yeah,” he tells her, the concern in his face bleeds into wariness.  

“That’s Mount Weather.” She explains with a frustrated sigh, pulling at the end of her braid. “They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

He swears. She doesn’t blame him.

They stand there together, looking out at the wonder that is Earth, ignoring the shouts and caterwauling of the others until finally he steps up next to her.

“I’m John,” he says, “John Murphy,” and Clarke smiles.

“I know,” she tells him. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for years.”

The expression on his face is hilarious. It’s as if she’s just told him that the sky is purple and the grass is orange.

Clarke tries not to laugh.

She fails, but he smiles anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Originally Posted:** March 10th 2016.  
>  **Original Note**  
>  Major <3 for oneoddood who raised my spirits after a rough day at work. Music: “Renegades” by X Ambassador. “A Spaceman came travelling”, “Cupid’s got a gun” and “False Love” by Karliene. I’m in a weird mood, it seems.


	3. long live the pioneers, rebels and mutineers

John does not want to be one of Jaha’s pawns, he refuses to be another piece on the Councils’ chess board.

He wants to breathe in the air that is clear and free and real – not some recycled crap that’s spent a hundred years being reconstituted from basic gaseous molecules.

He wants to feel the sun on his face and run through the forest, to smell each and every new smell and to dance in the rain.

John doesn’t want to be one of Jaha’s pawns, but he _does_ wants to eat at some point in the near future.

He trusts Clarke to be the clever and compassionate girl that he’s been watching for a decade, to be the bright burning soul that he thinks that he could learn to love. When she says they need to cross the forest and gather supplies from Mount Weather, he believes her. He follows her back to the ship so she can map out a route, and perches on the edge of the ramp, kicking his feet back and forth as she draws.

The younger Jaha [ _Asshole_ , his mind supplies – because unless somebody dies, he’s going to need a better way of separating father and son in his thoughts] tries to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and John tenses when Jaha 2.0 brings up her father and Clarke begins to emotionally close off.

(It seems that they have a shared sensitivity regarding their respective fathers.)

A kid with scruffy hair and goggles wanders up to Clarke with his fluffy-haired friend in tow, and makes a crack about finding a bar and beer, only to wind up being the catalyst for a brawl between the chancellor’s son and a group of tough-guys. To be honest, if he hadn’t been so focused on Clarke and keeping the troublemakers away from her, John would probably have been the one kicking Golden Boys’ ass.

He’s more than content to watch the scuffle until somebody is stupid enough to put their hands on Clarke when she tries to help her childhood friend, and then all bets are off. _Oh hell no._

Nobody touches his golden-haired princess, nobody. Not unless they want to lose a hand. He’s off the ramp and across the empty space in seconds, tackling the little shit to the ground and pressing a sharp piece of shrapnel to the idiot’s throat.

“Don’t,” he warns the boy. There is anger in his voice and death in his heart as he increases pressure just a little more, “Just don’t.”

The kid is wide-eyed, and smart enough to go limp so John lets him up; but the promise of murder hangs heavy in the air between the two of them until the Spacewalker finally has enough of the spat going on in the background and pushes off his little perch halfway up the dropship, landing smack in between Jaha II and Tough Guy number three. ( _Show off,_ a traitorous voice in his mind whispers, but John shoves it down.)

He has to suppress a bit of a smirk when Clarke firmly tells Jaha junior that he’s not coming with them to Mount Weather, although he’s a little impressed by the rudimentary pack fashioned from seatbelts and a seat-cover – not that he’ll say it out loud. Not a chance in hell.

The forest is green, the sky is blue. Clarke’s here with him, and he’s free for the first time in almost a year. John feels like he’s on top of the world.

* * *

[After a few hours of walking, Murphy finds a whole new meaning for the phrase “two-faced” when Spacewalker startles a grazing deer. It isn’t that much later before Clarke drops the by-the-way-the-ark-is-dying bomb on them, and he finds a whole new reason to hate the Jahas.]

Octavia strips off on a rock and takes a flying leap into a river, which looks like a really good idea because the condemned don’t really get baths in the Skybox; more like a four-minute spray down in a cubicle every few days and he’s feeling pretty dirty. It’s only Clarke’s command that holds him back – and even that is tenous. He’s not much for taking orders, not from anybody, but he’s got faith in her.

The part of his brain that screamed in resistance goes quiet in shock when Octavia is almost eaten by a freaking giant mutant sea snake or whatever the hell it is. He makes a crack about the Loch Ness Monster, and the name sticks. New rule: Nobody goes swimming in _that_ river unless they want to be a snack for Nessie.

[It figures that the damn thing is probably female, it sure is vicious enough.

That comment earns him a glower, and he ducks his head a little to hide the twitch of his mouth.]

* * *

This was a bad idea.

It was a _really fucking bad idea_.

Scruffy-Goggles is dead, with a fucking great spear in his chest. Mount Weather is a no-go and John is freaking the hell out.

Nobody ever said they’d have to worry about being killed by freaking forest ninjas.

Nobody ever said that there were survivors down on earth.

They’re running through the forest, booking it back to the others in a frenzied panic when a scream echoes through the woods – looks like Scruffy-Goggles isn’t so dead after all.

“Jasper,” Scruffy-Goggles’ buddy lunges in the direction of the scream.

“Oh wow, no,” John protests, catching him around the waist and hauling the smaller, lighter boy backwards.

“Do you want to get speared too?” Because that’s exactly what will happen if the fluffy-haired teen bolts off right now. Clarke nods in agreement, looking extremely freaked out.

“We can’t go after him alone,” Clarke says, taking a shaky breath, “we go back to the others, and then we find Jasper.” Fluffy-hair looks ready to commit mutiny right there and then, but he nods with the other two and so the follow the blonde back to the landing site, not stopping to rest until they scramble down the incline to where Jaha 2.0 has a blade to the throat of one of the tough guys from the day before.

 _“Wells,”_ Clarke shouts, sounding really pissed off, with a side of let-the-kid-go-and-put-the-fucking-knife-down. John doesn’t blame her; the brat isn’t making this any easier for her with his need to get into fights. He’ll get himself killed at this rate.

It’s a shaky few minutes as they recount their trek and Blake checks his sister over, looking as frantic as a mother hen with a chick missing. It’s a stunned silence that greets the news of surviving Grounders – although there’s more than a few mutters of “we’re so screwed” that pop up afterwards.

That’s when Clarke sees that the wristbands are missing. _What the fuck?_

Shit hits the fan, and Hurricane Clarke starts to spin.

He’s not even a little bit sorry for the morons.

* * *

Spacewalker is a fucking coward.

They leave camp as soon as they can, swapping out Octavia and Fluffy for older Blake and Wells. Apparently Jaha can track and Blake has a gun. John isn’t too sure he’s comfortable about that, he’s seen the way that Blake has stared at Clarke’s wristband, and it’s not in a good way. Surreptitiously, he shakes the sleeve of his jacket down to cover his own band.

His discontent worsens when Blake pulls Clarke back and demands her wristband, but he doesn’t interfere, not when she’s more than capable of socking the guy in the face all by herself. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to defend herself. But then Spacewalker shows up, looking all heroic and being bossy, telling them what to do and pulling Clarke away before John can follow – the pretentious prick. What happened to this being a suicide mission? John scowls, stomping after Blake and Jaha.

Eventually, Spacewalker picks up a trail and leads them to a clearing. Scruffy-Goggles – Jasper – is tied to a freaking tree like a weird copy-cat rendition of what the crucifixion was supposedly like.

“Oh my god,” Clarke mutters, staring up at the pale boy. She steps into the clearing, and straight through the ground. A pitfall is triggered and its sheer luck that she is able to grab the edge and hang on for dear life. Spacewalker lets out a shocked cry and races to assist, but Blake beats them all there, wrapping his hand around Clarke’s wrist.

There’s a split second where John thinks that the older man might drop her – and John swears he’ll snap the bastards neck if he does –, but then he pulls the blonde upwards and back onto safe ground. Jaha 2.0 is at her side and checking her over, but John has to work to restrain himself, hovering just out of reach – an ingrained habit years in the making, a habit he needs to break as soon as possible.

Clarke staggers onto unsteady feet, swaying as she pants, adrenaline coursing through her body. She stumbles, and John tucks himself into her side, holding her up.

“Thanks,” she says, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and he smiles.

“Hey Clarke?” Jaha says, interrupting the moment. “Is that what I think it is?” The older boy points to the strange coloured patch in the middle of Jasper’s chest. Clarke squints, staring up at it. Then:

“There’s a poultice on his wound,” she says, surprised. “But why would they save his life, if they were just going to string him up and leave him to the elements?”

“Bait?” Spacewalker suggests, tilting his head to the side. It’s not a happy thought. A growl echoes through the clearing, making them all tense.

“That doesn’t sound friendly,” Somebody mutters rebelliously; John turns his head to see a large black shape stalking towards him.

“No,” He agrees, “More like a very hungry big scary thing with claws,” He tells them, his body readying itself to move at any second.

Jasper groans again, and the big-thing-with-claws-and-teeth growls louder. It bounds towards them, gaining speed. In an instant, John recognizes it as a panther – a really fucking big one at that.

In the same instant Clarke shouts for Blake to draw his gun, but Jaha beats him to it, snatching the glock from the older mans’ waistband and firing at the predator. Most of the bullets go wide, but some of them hit.

The giant cat dies in a very unimpressive fashion, slumping to the ground when a lucky bullet hits a vital organ. The small group stand there, staring at the limp feline form until Jasper groans again, startling them into action.

They cut Jasper down, and John helps Clarke carry him back to camp, both of them tucking one of the skinny boys’ arms over their own shoulders and lifting with their knees. Behind them, the others drag the tarpaulin with the freaky giant mutant cat thing (or “dinner” as he prefers to think of it) along with them.

They finally pile back into camp just before sundown, Clarke barking orders and chivvying them into carrying Jasper up into the top level of the dropship where she can improvise a med bay. The dark sky comes with a marked sense of relief because it means that they’ve survived their first twenty-four hours on Earth.

Now they just have to keep on surviving.

So. Much. Fun.

_Not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Originally Posted:** March 13th 2016.  
>  **Original Note **  
> ****  
>   
> Music: “Stand by you” Rachel Platten. “Where I belong” by HomeTown.  
>  I went back and fixed an error in the previous chapter. It’s Dr Jackson that Clarke bullies into letting her take care of Murphy, not Sinclair. Sinclair is from engineering – my brain got a bit confused.  
> It needs to be said, but right now, what Murphy and Clarke have is not love. They don’t even know each other. I don’t believe in love at first sight, because to me, Love is something built over time. It’s deep and powerful and it needs taking care of like a goddamn house plant or it will wither and die.  
> On Clarke’s side, it is a sense of normalcy in a world of chaos – he’s been keeping an eye on her for years and that feels right to her (and yes, it sounds a little creepy, but I remember being sixteen and thinking it was cute when a boy was too shy to talk to me). On Murphy’s side it’s pretty much chaos with a bit of an obsession going. He’s been attracted to her for years, but he doesn’t actually know her. I should point out that even when they do get their shit together, it won’t make everything perfect – he’s still got a hell of a lot of rage and pain wrapped up inside, and Clarke has her own problems.


	4. not a piece in their game (can’t control me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was rewritten entirely. Thank god. The previous ending was cringe-worthy.

_‘Whatever the hell we want’_ only seems like a good idea until somebody decides they want something that isn’t theirs to take. A life, a love, a night under the stars.

It starts as a chant, a way of unifying the one hundred against the strict way of life that they had been born to, but it quickly turns into an excuse to run riot without regard for anyone or anything.

The night is far from peaceful, Jasper’s moans of pain cut through intermittent bursts of silence. He is dying. John knows it. He thinks that Clarke might know it too, but she’s too stubborn to give up.

She’s kind like that, so unlike the privileged that the others think she is, she really cares about each and every life – values them as much as her own. It’s in the way she speaks to people (although she is curt with the absolute morons), the way she keeps watch even when she’s exhausted, the way she comforts a screaming girl on her way to get water. There is a gentleness in her, wrapped around that inner core of steel, and John admires that. He’s a survivor, he doesn’t know how to be kind.

Three days, it’s been three days and still Jasper hasn’t woken up. Every moan makes John twitch, and Clarke’s frown has only grown heavier. She’s worried. He doesn’t blame her. People are getting restless, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them decides to end it. Moans turn into outright screams, and John bolts for the dropship, following Octavia up the ladder to where – _what the fuck?_

“Hold him still,” Clarke shouts over the noise, knife in hand. It’s a little terrifying to be honest, seeing her with a knife and that expression of firm determination. He wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that blade right now.

“She’s trying to save his life,” Spacewalker tells a pissed off Octavia. Footsteps on the ladder make John twist his head to see who else is heading up. It’s the older Blake.

“She can’t.” The man says, and John growls under his breath at his high-and-mightyness. Who the hell is he to say what Clarke can and can’t do? Does he really want to piss off the only medical student down here?

“He’s a lost cause,” Blake insists, “If he’s not better by tomorrow, I’ll put him out of his misery myself.” Blake leaves an awkward silence in his wake, broken only by Jasper’s whimpers and Fluffy-hair’s irritable grumbling. Spacewalker earns himself a black mark when he admits to Blake being right.

* * *

Clarke’s mission to save Jasper’s life involves her wandering off into the woods with Spacewalker and Jaha in search of some weird red water-weed. Of course John isn’t too happy about that. He should be there, he should be watching her back, not those two. But instead, she asked him to stay in camp.

“I need you here John,” she told him, “I need somebody I can trust to watch over Jasper.”

So he stayed, kicking at the earth and scuffing his shoes in the dirt like a petulant child.                                                                                                                  

But he still stayed.

Blake takes out a hunting party: Atom, Jones, Mbege, Connor and Diggs. They sneer at him as he sits on the ramp, cleaning his nails with his shrapnel-knife, but he stays firm. Clarke gave him a job to do, and he’ll be damned if he fails her now. Nobody but Octavia and Monty are allowed up the ladder, not even if they bring something that’s been requested – he takes those items up himself.

A few hours later, something in the air changes.

Like the promise of a storm bearing the whispering voice of death, a great yellow cloud begins rolling towards the camp. Sparks of electricity crackle ominously in the air. John is up and on his feet in seconds, barking orders for everybody to drop what they are doing and get their fucking shit into the dropship _right fucking now_.

The last of them trickle in just as the cloud reaches the camp, coughing and sputtering and he closes the doors just in time, only a wisp of the yellow fog that burns the skin of anybody close to it is able to seep through the cracks before the airlock seals kick in.

“What’s going on?” Monty calls, sticking his head through the floor-hatch.

“Some sort of weird acid storm,” he says, doing a quick headcount and coming up with eighty-five which is good because he’s pretty sure that’s almost everybody who was in camp and then scrambles up the ladder to join the other two, three if he counts Goggles.

“My brother’s out there,” Octavia says, and John pushes down a strangled, panicked thought of _‘So is Clarke.’_

“He’ll be fine.” Monty reassures her, “We’ll all be fine.”

 _God I hope so_ , John thinks.

* * *

He dozes off against the wall once Octavia takes over the next shift of watching Jasper and making sure the kid doesn’t choke on his own spit in the night, because with their luck, he bloody well would do. He’s woken by the clang of hurried footsteps on the ladder and blinks bleary eyes open just in time to see Monty hurl himself through the hatch and slam it down.

“Why are you sitting on the hatch?” is the only thing he can think to say to the panicked teenager.

“Dax is going to kill Jasper!”

“The fuck?” He says, getting up and joining the lighter teen in sitting on the hatch, using their combined weight to counteract the heavy thumping coming from below.

“Don’t let him in,” Octavia yells, and Monty scowls at her.

“The lock is on the other side. We need to barricade it from above.” The brunette spins on the spot, eyes searching for something to jam the lock with.

“I’m going to kill him, okay?” Dax shouts over the banging, “Let me in!”

John wants to laugh at the situation, because nothing about it is _okay._

“ _So not okay,”_ Monty shouts back, trying not to slip sideways off of the hatch.

“Hurry up,” John tells Octavia, feeling the wheel move underneath him. She pulls frantically at a pipe on the wall, bracing her foot against something solid. It comes free with a nasty screech of torn metal and they collectively wince at the sound.

“Here,” she shouts, rushing back to them. “Move.” It takes all three of them to wedge it firmly in place, preventing the hatch from being able to open.

“You better open up this hatch right now!” A voice calls, and John can’t help but laugh.

“Go to hell Dax,” he shouts back. He shares a relieved look with Octavia and Monty.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Why does this shit always happen to him?

* * *

Its several hours before the howling outside stops and they’re brave enough to open the doors.

Outside looks practically untouched, almost eerily so. Maybe it only burns living things or something? John is more than happy to bodily hurl Dax outside; using the excuse that Blake had given Jasper another day, and that Dax was overstepping his place to justify it.

He says nothing about the fact that Clarke would probably take Blake’s gun and shoot the moron herself. They wouldn’t believe it; they don’t know how dangerous the look on her face is when a patient is threatened. Honestly, John doesn’t want to ever find out what would happen if she ever acted on whatever she’s thinking when she makes that face.

The sun begins to go down, and still the others aren’t back. John prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that they weren’t caught in the storm, because he knows that he isn’t cut out to take care of these kids by himself. He distracts himself by bullying some of the stronger boys into helping him gather firewood and setting it alight, which draws the others into a makeshift sort of circle around the blaze, huddling close for warmth.

Most of the hunting party comes back, towing a small blonde girl behind them and looking more than a little haunted. A sigh of relief goes up, but still Clarke and Bellamy aren’t there. Where are they? Then Clarke strides in with Spacewalker practically on her heels; she looks harried and more than a little stressed. Blake is dragging a heavily laden stretcher and John feels his heart sink. Oh shit. No wonder Clarke looks so pissed.

“Get Clarke whatever she needs.” Blake says to the nearest lackey, watching his sister emerge from the dropship and make a beeline for the blonde medic.

“It’s about time.” Octavia says, relieved. “They were going to kill him.” Clarke nods, trying to pull her inside before she notices the stretcher. Predictably, it fails miserably and results in yet another fight between the Blake siblings before Octavia flees back into the ship, tears on her cheeks.

“Lose anyone here?” Blake asks him, and he shakes his head.

“No.” He says, “We got lucky. Got everybody inside before the clouds reached us.” Blake nods, looking relieved

“And Jasper?”

“Still breathing.” John tells him. “No thanks to Dax. Crazy bastard tried to off him. We had to barricade the floor.”

Then he adds: “Thought your sister was gonna brain him if he got through. She’s scary with a pipe, did you know that?” Blake nods, sighing.

“She’s always been a hell-raiser.” John doesn’t bother to suppress a laugh.

That’s one way to phrase it. Maybe if she’s been born in a different lifetime, Octavia might have been a Valkyrie. She has fire in her soul too.

She just refused to let the Ark suffocate it.

* * *

Blake wanders off to supervise the burial of Atom’s body, leaving John to his thoughts. Near the fire, the small blonde girl that Clarke had comforted the night before jerks awake screaming. Babysitting duty sucks, he thinks, before sighing and climbing to his feet. John pads over to sit by her.

“You doing okay?” He asks, and the tiny blonde sniffles.

“No,” she whimpers, clutching at a knife. “I have to slay my demons,”

He looks at the knife in her hands, a nasty, sharp-looking piece of metal that really shouldn’t be used as a security blanket by a kid, and then at the haunted look in her eyes. Something feels really wrong.

“Slay your demons, huh?” He repeats, watching her face with a sharp gaze.

“Yeah,” she nods, something flickering in her eyes. “Or they’ll never go away.”

John tilts his head to the side, and tugs the knife from her hands.

“Sounds like an awful big task for somebody so small,” He hums, tucking the knife into his belt and shuffling her closer to the fire.

“I’m not little,” She protests, and he hides a smile in his collar,

“Sure you aren’t.”

“I’m not!”

“You wanna tell me about these demons of yours kid?” John murmurs, watching her out of the corner of his eye, “I mean, I figure I oughta know what to watch out for.”

The little girl goes quiet, goes still, her own eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Every night, they come in my dreams,” she starts, eyes glassing over as she remembers, “it’s always the same. I’m hiding until my parents come back from work, my brother isn’t there –”

John can’t stop his own eyes from widening at this. He didn’t know there was more than one illegal child with them.

“–we sit down for dinner, and then afterwards Mum reads me a story and brushes my hair back. It’s normal, just a normal day, and we’re so happy. And then the door clicks open, but it’s not Stephen coming home, it’s the guard. Everybody is shouting, and Mum is crying, and somebody twists my arm back. It hurts. It hurt so much, I thought it was going to break.”

The fire crackles, and in the distance there are crickets chirping away. She doesn’t need to say what happened next, there’s only one solution to this story. No second children, no exceptions.

“They said I assaulted a guard. I don’t know, I don’t remember. _I just wanted my Mum.”_

“Jesus kid,” John murmurs, pulling her close as she starts to cry, starts to hiccup with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I never asked to be born,” She whimpers. “Maybe if I hadn’t they’d be okay. Maybe Stephen would still be happy.”

She doesn’t need to tell him what her demons are now. They’re the same as everybody else’s. The Council and their goon squad. Jaha and his merry band of sycophants. The Exodus Charter – meant to bring life and keep humanity safe.

_What good is continuing the survival of mankind if they lose their own humanity in the process?_

“They loved you,” is the only thing John can think to say. “They must have. That’s what parents do. It wasn’t your fault”

 _“I want my Mum,”_ Charlotte repeats, sobbing into his side.

“I know kid,” John mumbles, rubbing a circle on her back, “I know.”

She falls asleep next to him, lashes stuck together and her face puffy from crying.

The next morning, to his eternal amazement, John discovers that he has a shadow of his own now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Originally Posted:** March 15th 2016.  
>  **Original Note**  
>  The Murphy inside my head seems to swear a lot. Sorry about that.  
> It has been said that the pen is mightier than the sword – for words have a greater power than tempered steel. And yes, the story was stupidly cheesy, but Murphy isn’t the type to know fairytales, he pulled that out of nowhere because he was tired and wanted to sleep. He’s not worried that anybody will try to make fun, they’re all to wary of him after his little display with Tough-Guy-number-whatever.  
> I don’t think I could have been happy with myself if I didn’t save Charlotte. I mean, I know she killed Wells (in the show) and all, but I can’t really blame her due to her mental state – also, please remember that not only did she apologize to Wells as he was dying, she never contemplated murder until Bellamy told her to slay her demons, and she ended up speaking up to save Murphy and throwing herself off a cliff because she didn’t want anybody else to die.  
> I’m of the belief that she was suffering from some sort of problem brought on by stress and isolation. If you think about it, she’s a pre-teen (read: shit ton of hormones) when her parents die right in front of her in a really nasty way, and then she’s locked up in a small area and told she’s going to be locked up till the day she dies before a really scary ride through the black to a radiation-soaked planet full of monsters. On top of that, she relives the worst day of her life every night and wakes up only to see the monster under her bed right in front of her. So do not try to tell me that she’s a sociopath or a murderer. Any normal, functioning person would be traumatized and suffering a breakdown of some sort.  
> I have big dreams for Charlotte. I really do. I forsee Auntie Charlotte babysitting little Clara and Charlie Murphy one day. Oops. Spoilers?


	5. go forth and have no fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte faces her fears, and Wells lives. 
> 
> Murphy adjusts to his new shadow and Clarke learns the truth. 
> 
> Criminals Anonymous meets for the first time.

The early morning light is beautiful, breaking through the trees and casting shafts of gold down onto the clearing that they have made their home.

Wells isn’t really sure what his role in all of this is. He came down to earth to protect his best friend only to find that not only did she not need protecting, somebody else was more than ready – and better prepared, more able to succeed than he is – to swipe the job right out from under him.

Footsteps pad along the ramp that he’s sitting on, having traded guard shifts just barely an hour ago at dawn, and Wells turns to see a small blonde (Charlotte, right?), the same one that follows Murphy everywhere shifting her weight back and forth uncomfortably.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies, and then makes her decision. She sits down next to him.

“You’re the Chancellor’s son,” she says, and it isn’t really a question.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“But you aren’t him.”

“Yes…” He isn’t sure where she is going with this.

“He killed my parents,” she says, eyes unable to look at him, and Wells isn’t too sure what to say to that. His father has executed a lot of people while following the Exodus Charter, just as the previous Chancellor’s had.

“Every night, when I go to sleep, I see his face,” Charlotte whimpers, “and then I wake up and I see you.”

A sinking feeling starts to spread out from his stomach and Wells wonders if he should bolt. She might look tiny, but he can’t see her left hand and for all he knows, she might be holding a knife.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wishing he could change things. “I really am.”

“I know,” Charlotte brushes the tears off her face, “You keep trying to help everybody and keep them safe. It’s just really hard sometimes to remember that you aren’t him.”

She sniffles again and pushes to her feet, no doubt off to glue herself to Murphy’s side again. Wells watches her go, and a small part of him feels like shit because a little girl is in a lot of pain and he’s only making it worse.

She’s brave, he thinks. Braver than he is.

* * *

Trying to create order out of chaos is not easy. Trying to build a new life from the ashes of the old hurts like hell. But they keep on trying, because what else can they do?

After Atom’s death and Dax’s attempted murder of Jasper, John finds himself waiting for the next disaster to happen, for the other shoe to drop. Bad things come in threes, right? Everywhere he goes, he is followed by a little bird who stares up at him with wide blue eyes and a trusting smile that seems to say he can do no wrong. It’s disconcerting, but he isn’t about to push her away, the kid needs an anchor and so he’ll be one. It doesn’t hurt that Clarke beams with pride whenever she sees the tiny blonde playing limpet.

Part of John’s brain is constantly ticking away. The Council dropped them down onto Earth like a bunch of lab rats in a cage, to see if the radiation levels were survivable.

Okay then, job done. They’re still alive. But now what?

Are they just supposed to wait around like good little girls and boys for the Ark to come down and fold them back into society?

The Council might _say_ that they’ve been pardoned, but John isn’t so sure that means what it’s supposed to; and even if it does, how exactly do they expect a bunch of socially isolated teenagers who’ve missed out on a good portion of learning or working in their trades to just be able to slot back in without any hiccups?

The pieces just don’t fit together, and if there’s one thing John’s always been good at, it’s surviving, and part of that is knowing when to bolt.

He’s still trying to decide how best to explain this to Clarke – who’s been set in the ‘do as they say and it will all work out’ mind-set since the moment they landed – when another fight breaks out across the camp, and he’s dragged into breaking it up.

Goddamn kids.

* * *

There’s something John can’t just quite put his finger on, as he watches Clarke storm across the camp to get away from Jaha Junior. The guy ratted her father out (and isn’t that just cold?) but the way he’s acting doesn’t fall in line with that; unless he’s a psycho of course, but the kid looks pretty on the level. So why does something seem… off.

He says as much in a hushed tone to Spacewalker while they’re on sentry duty, and his companions’ expression twists into contemplation.

The day passes by in a flurry of activity, as soon as one task is done, there’s another that needed to be finished yesterday. The whole time, Spacewalker is frowning. John’s not so sure that’s a good thing.

It’s not until Spacewalker practically ambushes Clarke while she’s covering a tent with a section of parachute from the dropship that John realises just how right he was.

“How sure are you that Wells is the one who turned in your dad?” Spacewalker asks Clarke, who actually stops what she’s doing to stare at him.

“He’s the only one I told.” She says, looking at him as if he’s stupid. Which, in John's completely unbiased opinion, he totally is.

“He’s rather straightforward. But haven’t you noticed how every time the subject of your dad comes up, he won’t give you a straight answer?” Spacewalker says, tilting his head to the side and frowning in contemplation. “Maybe he’s the only one you told, but… is he the only one who knew?”

“No…” Clarke whimpers, realisation setting in. _Fuck._

“Clarke…” John says, but she ignores him, brushing past in her hurry to find her childhood friend. By the time he’s able to catch up, it’s too late to stop her.

“Tell me it isn’t true!” Clarke demands, stood in front of Jaha Junior, who’d been on his way back through the gates.

“What?” He asks, genuinely baffled and trying not to drop his end of the deer. Five feet to the left, Sterling looks highly interested in the brewing drama. John resists the urge to kick him in the shins, if only because dinner will taste better without being covered in mud.

“Tell me!” She half-shrieks in desperation.

“Clarke what are you talking about?” Jaha says, hefting the deer higher on his shoulder.

“Spacewalker,” John explains dryly, trying not to turn on his heel and strangle the bastard, “reckons that it wasn’t you who blabbed to dear old dad.”

Jaha’s body seems to freeze up, and John dreads the moment Clarke realises this.

“Tell me it was you,” Clarke begs again, “Please.”

Jaha doesn’t say anything, but his face twists into a horridly pained expression that says everything. A sob tears its way out of her throat, and her face crumples; and then Clarke spins on the spot and hurls herself into the dropship.

_Oh for fucks sake._

John makes a mental note to kick Spacewalker off a cliff at first opportunity and chases after Clarke.

* * *

He finds her in the top level of the dropship, wrist practically shoved into Monty’s face, and screaming for him to take it off.

John doesn’t bother to try and talk her out of it, but he does find himself wrenching her hands apart so she can’t tear the band off with her fingernails, and makes her sit her ass down before she pulls a muscle.

Monty is careful when he twists his tools into the locking mechanism, and prises the silver device open, its needles glinting dangerously in the low lighting.

Clarke doesn’t even wince, her eyes locked on to one of the few remaining symbols of the Council’s power. This isn’t anything more than a teenage rebellion, but it’s one designed to hurt, to cause maximum pain to the one person she hates more than anybody else right now.

If he wasn’t too busy worrying about her throwing caution to the wind, he’d be proud of her.

Instead, he’s got a nasty feeling that she’s going to make more than a few reckless decisions in the coming weeks.

Ah hell.

* * *

That night, the fire crackles merrily shut because he wants to eat and shoves a portion in Charlotte’s general direction. Part of being responsible is making sure the kids are fed, right?

The amused snort from his left shows that Clarke is more than aware of what’s going on, and that she finds it hilarious. John fights down a flush and focuses instead on feeding himself.

Laughter echoes from across the fire, where Fluffy and Goggles (Monty and Jasper, he has to correct himself) are elbowing each other back and forth, showing off for Octavia who seems to find their antics worth paying attention to. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were flirting – but he does, and they aren’t the only ones who have been working on keeping her mind off the most recent grave outside the walls.

Chatter eventually dies out as people settle in against the logs and scrunch their toes into the dirt, and Blake looks like he’s gearing up for a speech. So John sighs, bracing himself for it, but then an idea tickles at him.

“So,” He coughs, raising his voice. “I’m John, and I’m here because I set fire to the home of one of the Guard.”

Crickets chirp in the silence as everybody processes that random remark, and then –

“Hi John!” Jasper and Monty chime, trying their hardest not to giggle. John grins, and turns expectantly to Clarke, who blinks in surprise.

“What?” She says, and then realizes what he’s waiting for. “Oh. Me?” John nods.

Clarke laughs shakily. “Um, Hi everybody. I’m Clarke, and I’m here because I… I was accused of Treason.” She waves, tucking her knees up to her chest.

“Hi Clarke!” John says, joined by Jasper and Monty – and Charlotte and Wells this time, as they cotton on.

They move on to the left once more (Clarissa, Theft) and again (Jones, Vandalism) and again passing around the circle. Things tense up for a moment when they reach Octavia and everybody winces at her crime, “Being born,” she spits angrily. The baton – a stick Collins had jokingly picked up and started passing on – passes to Jasper:

“Food’s not the only thing that grows in Agro,” he laughs, “you just gotta remember to put it back,” and elbows Monty, who adds “I said I was sorry.”

When Dax admits to murder, everybody wisely doesn’t ask the circumstances – but John makes a note to keep Charlotte and Clarke out of the blokes reach. Then there’s Nathan, and who knew that the son of a guard would be a thief? There’s Vanessa and Fox who are huddled up next to Jessica; Roma and Diggs, Connor and Myles. Sterling is sat by Bree and Monroe, and finally things get back around to Charlotte who takes the stick with a shaky hand.

“They said I assaulted a guard,” she says, tossing the stick into the fire where the damp greenwood hisses and spits. John puts and arm around her, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “I don’t know.”

Across the fire, Blake coughs guiltily.

“Resisting arrest is what the paperwork says,” He tells her, “You sort of… weren’t all there after the floated your parents, and when one of the guards went to pick you up – there was a lot of arguing about whether to put you in the Sky Box because you were so small –”

“ _I was eight!_ ” Charlotte snaps, irritably.

“– because you were so young,” Blake hastily amends, “There was talk of adopting you out. But then when the Guard went to pull you away from the airlock, you had… well…” He trails off, frowning as his eyes focused on something in the coals.

“Nobody was prepared for you to lose it. You didn’t do all that much damage, but they decided you were a risk to yourself and everybody around you, so they figured it’d just be best to lock you up and make you see a counsellor.”

Charlotte snorts, bitter.

“ _What_ counsellor?” She bites out, and it’s all too clear as to what happened next.

“Figures,” Somebody else mutters angrily from across the fire.

In the quiet, Clarke flings herself across John’s lap, ignoring his cry of alarm, and wriggles until she’s wrapped around Charlotte’s small body – never mind that she’d almost kicked him in the face while doing so. John snorts, and then re-orientates himself so he can stretch his arm to wrap around Clarke’s shoulder and hug them both.

There’s a splutter, a bark of laughter and a crow of victory across the way, and the three of them look up just in time to see Jasper flat on the ground with Octavia sitting on his back, pushing his face into the dirt. She grins at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Huzzah!
> 
> Charlotte seems to be getting a lot of screen-time. I underestimated just how invested in her background I am.  
> Can you tell how bitter I am about her story?
> 
> Music for this seems to be a mix. “Eyes Open,” (Taylor Swift), “Just a Game” (Birdy) and “Kingdom Come” (The Civil Wars); “Boudica” and “Noble Maiden Fair” by Karliene; “You make me brave” by Amanda Cook.


End file.
